Taste of revenge

27

Chapter Twenty-Seven
Noelle

"S ign here," the officiant points towards the sheet of paper.
The last step.
Once the tip of my pen hits the parchment, I'll be forever tied to him. I'll
become his property. His to do as he sees fit.
For days I've been fretting about this moment, thinking of countless
ways to escape my fate. After all, I know exactly what happens when I'm
not my own self anymore.
Yet no matter how much I plotted and schemed, I reached a point where
I had to admit to myself that there was nothing I could do. The outcome had
been decided long ago.
Just like before, I'm powerless to do anything but to let others dictate
my fate.
My fingers grip the shaft of the pen, my hand shaky in one last bout of
flimsy rebellion.
Looking back, my family is on one side, their watchful eyes on me since
God forbid I make a scene. Raf's friends are on the other side of the room,
all sporting bored looks on their faces—probably aware of the sham that is
this marriage.
And then there's him.
The heat of his body seems to permeate every atom of my being—
though we are not touching.
His steely eyes meet mine, their coldness suffocating and antithetic to
everything else he makes me feel. But the disdain that greets me as I look at

him is sobering enough to remind me of my place. I'm merely a pawn in his
game—in everyone's game.
My mouth opens on a sound that won't come out—all my grievances
suddenly muted by the inevitability of fate.
He narrows his eyes at me, and taking a step closer, he stoops low, his
mouth brushing against my ear.
"Don't you dare," he whispers, his tone stern and unyielding.
Leaning back, there's just the hint of a smile as the corner of his mouth
pulls in a sick representation of what my life has become.
The smugness on his face does nothing to alleviate the emptiness
forming inside of me as I turn my attention back to the paper, pressing the
tip of the pen against the white surface and watching a leaky substance flow
out of it.
A brisk move and my fate is sealed.
"Congratulations," someone speaks, but it's hard to make out whose
voice that is.
Not when there's a numbness inside of me that drowns everything out.
My ears stop working, my mind foggy as I'm passed around from person to
person for useless platitudes.
For a moment, I have to wonder if this is the reality I find myself in. If
it's not a nightmare—a vision of horror produced by my sick mind.
Minutes trickle by. Then hours.
A screeching noise pounds in my ears—a sound that I belatedly
recognize as my errant heart.
"A little smile won't hurt," a snide voice comments, that one sentence
bringing me back to the present.
My sight clears, my eyes focusing on the moving items outside of the
window of the car, the atmosphere stifling on the inside as I feel his
presence more than ever in the small, enclosed space.
"Don't want to," I mumble, shrugging.
"Now, that's an issue, little liar," he says, and suddenly his fingers are on
my jaw, tightly gripping my flesh and forcing me to look at him. "Your
family believes in our great love story. It wouldn't do well to disappoint
them," he flashes me a mocking smile.
"You might be able to win actor of the year with your golden boy looks,
but I won't help you. You got what you wanted already, so leave me alone,"

I grit my teeth as I shove his hand away.
"That's where you're wrong. I didn't get what I wanted. Far from it,
Noelle," he smirks. "This is just the beginning. And by the time I'm through
with you..." his smile widens.
"Do your worst," I shrug, already resigned to my fate.
At the end of the day, what can be worse than being married to Sergio?
With all the threats hanging over my head, Raf hasn't been violent towards
me.
A manipulative bastard? Maybe. But he's never lifted a hand against me,
and that is my only solace at the moment.
He seems surprised by my easy acquiescence, a twitch in his jaw
signaling his annoyance as he turns his focus back to the road.
It's a very short while later that I realize we're not going towards the
house. My eyes widen as I watch the city skyscrapers quickly become small
dots in the distance.
"Where are we going?" I demand, my head whipping back and forth as I
try to make sense of our location.
Suddenly, images of him taking me in the middle of nowhere to kill me
and get rid of my body flash before my eyes. And no matter how much I try
to put on a strong front, slowly, the fear is getting to me.
He's going to kill me.
That was what he wanted to do from the beginning, wasn't it? But why
now? Why marry me first?
A barrage of questions make their way into my mind, and while I do my
best to rationalize my situation—that it wouldn't be in his best interest to
get rid of me now—somehow I can't help but feel that I'm heading straight
for the guillotine.
"Our honeymoon, where else," he chuckles, but the mirth doesn't reach
his eyes.
In fact, there's a chilliness coming from him that makes me shiver, my
hands going around my arms in an attempt to warm myself up.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your brother thought we should have a weekend to ourselves," he
answers in a curt tone, "since we won't have too much intimacy at the
house. He also told me he was remodeling the third floor to give us some
privacy."